


The Portrait

by DarknessBetweenTheStars



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Blood of Eden - Freeform, F/F, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Military Propaganda, Obsession, Post-Canon, Post-Harrow the Ninth (Locked Tomb Trilogy), alecto the ninth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessBetweenTheStars/pseuds/DarknessBetweenTheStars
Summary: Princess Coronabeth Tridentarius leaves her old life behind; a propaganda poster holds the promise of a new future.
Relationships: Coronabeth Tridentarius/Wake | Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	The Portrait

The first time you saw her, it was while leaving the crumbling bleached castle of the First behind. You and the other survivors were swept away without notice. Under cover of darkness your shuttle departed that cursed, saltwater planet. Tears streamed down your face, falling away like the charred, fleshy remains melting off of a desiccated skeleton. 

When you saw her again, that proud, unwavering gaze stared at you for hours. To the point where every detail was etched into your brain. 

They don’t believe in revenants here. But you were haunted.

Every shuttle. Every office wall. Every single interrogation, meeting, and mess hall—she was there. Watching. Judging. Enticing. 

You wondered what she spoke like. Did she ever laugh? Was a woman with a scowl like that capable of happiness? Did she have a family, or friends who missed her? People who wondered where she vanished to?

You weren’t sure what drew you to her the most. Was it the fierce determined face? The angry, but mischievous eyes? The strong jaw, capped off with a surprisingly familiar crooked mouth?

What did she do to inspire devotion so fierce people were willing to die for it? To _still_ die for her, some twenty years on.

Those twinkling eyes lured you in. She whispered to you as if she knew a precious secret: that you, too could be somebody. Somebody worth _fighting for_. Truly. For the first time in your miserable, fraudulent life.

At night, sometimes you cried. You missed home, and your sister, and before. Before you know the extent of all the bullshit, and all the lies you’d been fed your whole life. 

Other times, you thought of her. Imagined not being with her, but _being_ her. Someone people listened to. Respected. Admired. Worshipped.

What would it be like to finally be free from your gilded chains? Let out of your cage, to roam as you pleased?

Off your sisters leash...

-

And then, suddenly, months had passed. 

You knew _everything_ now. All that had been kept from you for so long, by your parents, society, your sister... All the lies, and the death and the tragedy— it was all for nothing. Like some sort of fucked up cosmic joke. A roaring flame of a drawn out revenge story, that should have been extinguished a myriad ago. 

You changed. Worked hard for the first time in your life. Became someone others valued, and looked up to. Rose swiftly through the ranks. Helped bring in new, fresh blood. Convinced people this was something worth dying for— a forever death this time. 

You always were charismatic. Some said that was your best quality (others still, your only good quality). 

Sometimes, you still cried yourself to sleep at night. Desperate, gasping sobs. But at least now, you knew your suffering would one day end. 

You just had to be patient, and you’d get the vengeance you’d been denied for so long. 

Punish those who took everything from you.

You saw the error of your ways  
The true cost of necromancy. 

You’d help leave flowers on its grave.

They needed a new leader to get them there.  
So a leader you became. 

And when the day finally arrived, you were ready.

You took your sword, your extra shoes, and your propaganda leaflets, and left behind the strange, foreign planet you’d called home for so many months. 

When it was time to board the shuttle, she was there again, cheering you on. 

Next to her hung what at first glance appeared to be a mirror— but it was no mirror. It was a portrait of your own, golden, shining face.

You smiled at the pilot as your crew prepared for lift-off.  
In just under a few hours, you’d be home. Or what used to pass for home.

The end was swiftly approaching, but you were ready.  
Ready to walk backwards into hell, and ~~face~~ kill God. 

If you were lucky: Maybe your sister too.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following works:
> 
> This [Fan Art](https://twitter.com/bootlegmonster/status/1330885271361966087/photo/1).
> 
> Also this [Fan Art](https://abominablebebop.tumblr.com/post/641426162500943872/uh-oh-sisters).
> 
> And this [Tumblr Post](https://gallpall.tumblr.com/post/640240362424827904/the-tridentarii-and-posters-of-their-face).


End file.
